


Erebor Hall's Mysteries

by DragonsinGondolin



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 30s!AU, F/F, Female Gimli, Female Legolas, Female Ori, M/M, Minor Character Death, agatha christie!AU, as you can expect from this sort of AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsinGondolin/pseuds/DragonsinGondolin
Summary: Northumberland is not the nicest place to be in this time of the year, Benjamin Baggins came to learn, and especially so when you've been dragged there against your will by your boss to attend some remembrance gathering for an old Lord you never met in your life... and when said Lord's son is as polite to you as a swan whose feather you'd have plucked.





	1. the man in the high castle

The day they arrived at Erebor Hall was rainy. This was to be expected from England, though, if one had to be fully honest. A thick fog had welcomed them as soon as they had reached Middlesbrough and the weather had only worsen from this point onwards. They had followed the coast up north towards Northumberland in Gideon’s powerful white car, and Benjamin had contemplated death and the frailty of life at least fifteen times by the time they arrived in the small fisherman town that marked the entrance of the peninsula. Gideon Greyheim had always had a nervous and fast way of driving, but one would have thought that he would put it aside and adopt a slower and more prudent pace in such terrible climatic conditions. Apparently not. The old doctor’s car was speeding through the countryside as if Hell was following them, and his assistant was forced to bear it as stoically as his patience would allow – which, for Benjamin Baggins, was not very much.

They had left the main road after the small town – that Gideon had identified as Esgaroth – and were now driving on a narrow and winding country road that suited Benjamin even less. They were advancing on a moor-like landscape, made desolate by the harsh winds coming from the sea. It looked grim to the southerner’s eyes, more accustomed to green pastures and rolling hills, and his surroundings left him with a sense of foreignness and unease, a feeling of not being at home, and perhaps of something threatening. A desolation. But he had a vivid imagination and a tendency to pessimism, and so he restrained his thoughts. What was the use of those? There was nothing he could do to change the situation, anyway. Gideon had been invited to Erebor Hall, and he had to be with him, whether he wanted to or not.

 

The circumstances were... well, they were rather odd, to say the least.

Lord Tristan Durin was a rich aristocrat from a long and ancient lineage that had come – from what Benjamin had gathered from Gideon’s enigmatic and winding explanations – with William the Conqueror and had settled in what was before that the kingdom of Northumbria. Or rather, Lord Tristan had been a rich aristocrat before his death a few weeks before, following a long and sad illness. There had been nothing to prevent it, and the best doctors of the country, summoned through impressive amount of both will and money by the man’s son, could do nothing. A note found after his death asked said son to gather several friends and acquaintances of the old man to their family home in Northumberland. Some sort of ceremony of remembrance no doubt. And here Benjamin Baggins entered the scene, been dragged up north by Gideon to attend the event with him. He had so many things to do at King’s college, Benjamin had claimed. He was just used to his own peaceful living and studying to go wandering so far away from home, he also advanced. He simply did not see why he had to be there and was sure his presence would just prove inconvenient among the mourning people, he had tried at last. Nothing had done the trick. He was packed with the rest of the luggage in the Hotchkiss 680 regardless of his opinion on the matter.

 

Erebor Hall was in fact the remnant of a medieval castle of massive proportions. It seemed to be looming over visitors, stately and impressive as it was, to the point where you did not know where and when you were anymore. It was creepy, the moody assistant thought. As for the older man, he considered the façade of the house for a while, brows shooting up as he was examining this or that architectural feature.

 

“Isn’t it a magnificent place, Benjamin?”

“I would have gone for ‘gloomy’… or perhaps ‘depressing’, but suits yourself,” he muttered back, burying his hands further in the pockets of his coat.

“Why my boy! I would say by the sound of your voice that you are not pleased by the scenery. Ah, but it does not matter. The fresh northern wind will do you good, you’ll see!”

 

Benjamin didn’t reply, simply casting an annoyed look at the Doctor. Do him good? He was really not sure of that. Nevertheless, he followed Gideon up the front steps of the castle, and remained behind him as the man knocked on the door. It was almost immediately opened by a man of fifty, give or take a few years, who smiled and bowed his head at them.

 

“Doctor Greyheim, I presume. Good afternoon, please do come in.”

 

They entered a grand hall, and once again Gideon seemed fascinated by the architecture. The interior was less medieval that the outside. Of course, the structure of the building remained, but it disappeared behind a significantly more modern decoration. Well, as much as you could modernize a castle, of course.

 

“My name is Dorian Rydder and I am the one you should go to shall you need anything. Lord Thomas is in the conservatory with his nephews. May I lead you to them? Your luggage will be taken care of.”

“Sure, Mr Rydder, please lead the way” came the amicable answer from Gideon.

 

They were conducted through an old corridor which retained its medieval narrowness and feebleness of light in spite of its modernization. Benjamin felt uncomfortable walking in it, as if he expected the walls to close up on them at any moment. He was not displeased to emerge from it to what was certainly the back of the castle. As the butler had promised, a large conservatory was there, probably added to the castle years or even centuries after its construction, and Benjamin felt instantly better amongst the greeneries and the more cosy furniture.

 

What – or rather whom – instantly caught his eyes after entering the place was a tall and elegant man standing nearby an ottoman sofa. He was… quite the thing. Benjamin could not put his finger on what exactly, but something emanated from him, something larger than the room itself, larger than life. He may have been in his forties, as Benjamin was, but the similarity stopped there. He was, for instance, much taller than the assistant professor could ever claim to be, dark-haired when Benjamin’s hair was light, and muscular when he was soft. His suit was perfectly tailored and screamed ‘rich’ as if the word had been tattooed on his forehead. Well well, if this was not the Lord of the castle. The man caught sight of them just as Dorian was clearing his throat.

 

“Lord Thomas. Doctor Greyheim and Mister Baggins are here.”

 

The nobleman took his time before talking, simply nodding his acknowledgment to Dorian, who bowed his head again and exited the room promptly.

 

“Good afternoon Doctor,” he said at last “I hope you had a pleasant journey despite the weather.”

“Wonderful, thank you. This is a lovely region, so different from Cambridge.”

“Indeed. May I introduce my nephews?” he motioned to two young men sitting in nearby armchairs that Benjamin had not even realised were there, “I do not think you ever met?”

“I never had the pleasure. Mr Villand, you look positively like your late father. It is striking.”

 

The oldest of the young men, a blond man shorter than the other with piercing blue eyes, nodded politely to Gideon. He was struggling to hide a prideful smile. Benjamin thought that he had his uncle’s nose and eyes. Then Gideon’s eyes fell on the other one.

 

“And you Mr Villand, of course, took after your mother and uncle. Impressive how the two of them looked alike. They were twins, of course, but it has always astonished me.”

 

The dark-haired young man did not even care to hide his grin, contrary to his brother. Benjamin had never met the mother, but as he had the uncle in plain sight in front of him, he could notice that the darker hair and completion were in fact the only thing the two shared. In his opinion, the first one looked much more like his uncle, as a matter of fact. He would not say that out loud, however. Contradicting Gideon was never a good nor a productive idea.

If Benjamin had hoped to be exempted from the conversation, he was soon disappointed. Lord Thomas Durin was well aware of his presence, and suddenly decided to shift the discussion to him.

 

“So, this is the assistant?”

 

He let the question hang in the air, and nobody – Gideon included – thought of answering this rhetorical question. He had a commending presence, and Benjamin supposed people rarely dared to interrupt him whenever he spoke.

 

“Tell me, mister Baggins, what do you know about Northumberland?”

“Not much, I must confess.”

“I thought as much,” he answered.

 

Benjamin would not have called that sneering coming from someone so elegant and jupitarian, but that was what it was. The Lord turned to Gideon.

 

“He looks more like a grocer to me than an historian.”

 

Benjamin felt thunder-struck for a moment, gaping a bit even. How very rude! He was quick to recover, though, and his legendary sarcasm took over.

 

“Excuse me, but I fail to see what this has to do with anything. Beside, I’ll have you know that my area of expertise is the south east of England. And I am not here as an historian, but because Gideon insisted I came. I was right to suppose that my presence would disturb, I see.”

 

He addressed a quick and angry glance at Gideon, who had the good grace of looking at his finger nails in embarrassment. He reported his gaze on the Lord, who was studying his face gravely.

 

“You have a quick tongue, Mister Baggins. Mind it does not lose you.”

 

He did not follow through with this line of thought, nor did he explain what he meant, and Benjamin did not ask him to clarify. Nobility or not, the man had some nerve. How very rude of him to attack him with a remark that came out of nowhere, and then act as if Benjamin was at fault for defending himself. Lord Thomas seemed unused to people talking back at him, and the assistant thought a little contradiction would do the man some good, if only to teach him some manners. This was the 1930s, not the 1730, for crying at loud, it was time for the nobility to step into modernity and Human Rights. The door behind Benjamin opened, stopping his musing and diverting the Lord’s gaze from him, and a woman appeared with a tea tray, quiet as a mouse. Her hair was some sort of gingery chestnut, and she was more on the short and soft side than on the thin and tall. Her moves were assured, as someone who knows their job, but the tension in her shoulders spoke of shyness.

 

“Your tea, Lord Thomas.”

“Thank you Oriana,” the Lord answered sternly, then turned to Gideon, “Oriana is Dorian’s sister.”

“Charmed, miss Rydder.”

 

She did a small curtsy, her face turning red, and quickly made her escape as quietly as she had entered. They both sat down to take their tea with Lord Thomas and his nephews, and Gideon was soon engaged in a conversation with the oldest of the brothers on the subject of his studies. Benjamin was happy to be kept out of the civilities, the small share he had had in it so far having proved to be more irritating than pleasant. Filibert – who insisted he was fine with just being called Fili – was a law student in St Andrews, where his brother Kilian was a student of English with a special interest in Medieval romance and poetry. They both had a happy attitude, but Kilian was more carefree in the way he held himself. It was clear, on the other hand, that Fili was already being groomed to take on the duties of Lord Durin when the time would come, Lord Thomas having no children of his own.

Benjamin was only half listening so far, but when the conversation switched to the possible war with Germany, he stopped pretending to care altogether. Politics were really not his strong point. He reported his full and undivided attention on Lord Thomas. He tried not to be too obvious, although he had the feeling that the man was always vigilant and aware of his environment. Despite how rude he was, Benjamin had to admit that he was quite fascinating. There was something dark in him, but he was also noble and held his head high and mighty. His features were severe, his nose strong, and his brow scolding. In the midst of this, two piercing ice-blue eyes contradicted the darkness of the rest of his person. He would not have been misplaced in some knight story that his nephew was studying, or perhaps in some Gothic novel.

 

Tea passed in this fashion, with nothing eventful happening. A while later, after they had had plenty of time to finish, Dorian appeared in the conservatory again and asked Gideon and Benjamin whether they wanted to be guided to their rooms in order to freshen up before diner. They both agreed, and soon Benjamin found himself in the bedroom he had been assigned. He looked around. It was more than decent in size and the window allowed to see the gardens behind the castle. Being an amateur of gardens, he promised himself to take a walk in them sometimes, when the weather would clear a bit. The furniture were modern, elegant and practical, but there was nothing special to say about them beside. What was noticeable, on the other hand, was the absence of suitcase in the room. Muttering to himself, he thus exited his room and marched resolutely towards Gideon’s, knocking twice. The old man opened his door after a few seconds and looked at him with surprise written across his face.

 

“Yes? Is something the matter my dear Benjamin?”

“Is my suitcase with you? It is not in my room.”

“Absolutely not,” the man’s eyebrows shot up, “I only have mine. Perhaps it is still in the car?”

“Probably, yes. Thank you.”

 

Benjamin sighed and turned heels in the corridor, Gideon’s door closing behind him. Well, he had to find the way to the garage, now. Of course his suitcase would be misplaced. Such a lovely place, really. He found his way to the great staircase with some difficulty, the castle being something of a maze, but managed to descend into the grand hall after all. There were people in the high room already: Dorian again, but also a man and a woman. Both blond, and both rather elegant, if not a bit extravagant as far as the man was concerned.

 

“Good afternoon.”

 

They turned around to look at him. Dorian smiled politely.

 

“Do you have everything you need, Mister Baggins?”

“Actually, I think my suitcase was forgotten in the car.”

“Oh! I am really sorry! Boyd must have missed it when unloading the Doctor’s car. I will send for it as soon as I have shown Mister and Miss Greenwood to their rooms.”

“Do not trouble yourself. I can go and find it on my own. Nothing wrong with a little walk, to be honest.”

“If you insist. You will find the garage if you follow the road going to the right of the house.”

“Thank you. A nice afternoon to you, Mister and Miss Greenwood.”

“To you too, Mister Baggins,” the young woman answered in a terribly American accent, her father – they looked quite alike, now that he could see their faces – remaining silent and simply nodding at him.

 

The rain had stopped, luckily. He did not want the amicable butler to trouble himself or be embarrassed, but it did not mean he had to actually enjoy walking in the rain. The little road Dorian had mentioned was easy enough to find, starting only a few metres away from the front stairs. It was flanked on both sides by tall trees that probably gave a nice shade during summer, but which were useless now. He followed it for two or three minutes and emerged from the cover of the trees then, on an ensemble of buildings which seemed to double as both stables and garage. There were two men working there, and if he remembered the name Dorian had dropped correctly, one of them was Boyd. He walked to the most amicable looking one, a smiling fellow with a funny trapper hat who smelled of strong tobacco.

 

“Good afternoon,” he said to catch his attention, and the man looked up from his work and smiled at him, “it seems that my suitcase was left in my boss’s car.”

“Afternoon. Sorry for that,” Irish, very obviously, “I was supposed to take out the suitcases, but there are many people arriving at the same time. Must have missed one. What car is it?”

“Er… a white one? Expensive,” he supplied lamely, not knowing much about cars.

“The Hotchkiss?”

“Maybe…”

 

The man led him inside one of the buildings that was obviously the garage, a series of cars being parked neatly in it. Gideon’s Hotchkiss was indeed there with them, and Benjamin found his suitcase in the trunks as expected.

 

“Beautiful car!!” the man in the hat commented, “the red one here is Mister Greenwood’s. Very fancy, but a bit too much for my taste.”

 

He was showing a sports car, American-looking and indeed very extravagant, like the personal appearance of Mister Greenwood.

 

“Who is this Mister Greenwood?”

“Randall Greenwood. A businessman. American. He was in business with Tristan Durin. You know that the family has interests in mines? Well, Greenwood imports some of the product in the States. I think… I’m really not an expert.”

“Oh, me neither, do not worry.”

 

The man scratched his head under his hat, still smiling.

 

“I’m Boyd by the way. And the man there is my cousin Bill. He won’t talk with you much, I’m afraid. He was wounded in the war. I suppose you’re Dr Greyheim’s assistant.”

“Benjamin Baggins. I am. Sorry for your cousin.”

“It happened to a lot of people.”

 

There was nothing to answer to that, so Benjamin just nodded, changing the topic of the conversation after a moment.

 

“You have worked for the Durin family for a long time?”

“As soon as I was the right age to start working, yes. Practically grew up with Tom… Lord Thomas I mean. Bill was their mechanics before the war, and Lord Trevor was kind enough to keep him despite his wound,” he stopped for a second to catch his breath, and frowned slightly, “he does not deal with cars much these days; reminds him of the explosions. But he’s good with the garden and with horses, and I can work cars alone alright. My brother and his wife work for the family too.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. He is a cook and she is a housekeeper. The Durins like keeping things in the family, so to speak, and that goes for employees as well. We are only two families at their service in the castle.”

“The Rydders being the other one.”

“Sure. You met Dorian I imagine.”

“I have.”

 

They looked at the trees around them for a moment more, before Benjamin dared to ask the question he had in mind.

 

“So you have known Lord Thomas since you were children.”

“Yup.”

“What kind of person is he? I… I met him earlier, but I think I might have made a mistake somehow. He was… erm…”

“Rude? Arrogant?”

“I… excuse me?”

“Shouldn’t talk about my employer like that, you think? I suppose. I like Tom, I do. He is a good man, like his father. Decent, honest, surprisingly kind when you know him. But he can make a very cold first impression.”

 

Benjamin’s half surprised half embarrassed expression made him laugh.

 

“Do not take it personally, Mister Baggins. Tom is like that with everybody he doesn’t know. Let’s say people are not his thing.”

 

It did not necessarily reassure Benjamin, but at least he knew what to expect now. He made a mental note to avoid having to engage Lord Thomas in a conversation. Let Gideon deal with the pleasantries, and he would just be the silent assistant whom nobody sees nor talks to. He and Boyd separated, and he made his way back to the castle. The suitcase was heavy, and it took him longer to reach the front stairs. An old man was standing there, looking at the sky and humming the fresh air. So long for not being seen nor talked to.

 

“Good afternoon,” he repeated for the billionth time this day.

“It is. But I am afraid it might rain again.”

 

Benjamin decided not to comment on that, and the old man smiled pleasantly at him.

 

“Baldwyn McFundin. Family lawyer and distant cousin.”

“Benjamin Baggins. Dr Gideon Greyheim’s assistant. You came at Lord Tristan’s request too, I suppose.”

“Indeed. Poor Tristan. What a terrible thing this illness has been,” his smile turned sad, “I live in Esgaroth, you see. I had the occasion of seeing Tristan a lot, especially in the later months… to settle everything.”

“I imagine. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. It is nothing compared to Thomas’s pain, though. Well, I have to leave you there. I must see Thomas before diner.”

“Of course. Have a nice… uh… late afternoon.”

 

Luckily, he did not find anybody else on his way to his room. He had met enough people in his opinion. He realised there would be more of them to meet, though. If only Boyd’s brother and sister-in-law, and he supposed the Greenwoods and Gideon were not the only guests expected. Why did Gideon insist on having him there? If people were not Lord Thomas’s thing, it clearly was not his either.

 

He spread himself on the bed and let his mind study everything and everyone he had seen so far. Dorian and Oriana… funny how their names were so close and their age so wide apart. The former was well in his fifties, but Oriana was no older than thirty, if not younger than that. They were both well mannered, but the woman was shy, perhaps because there were strangers in the house. Her brother was much more social. There was Boyd and his infirm cousin Bill, of course. Boyd was funny and helpful, but prone to being distracted. That was all for the service. The Greenwoods were guests. He did not have the opportunity to discover a lot about them, but he had the feeling that the father was a tad vain. Or at least he had expensive tastes. The lawyer cousin was polite, but there was nothing spectacular about him so far. Same with the nephews.

Then, there was Lord Thomas. Something was definitively nudging Benjamin, and it irked him that he could not tell what. What he had learnt from Boyd was not very useful, and what he had seen himself… not much either. Lord Thomas was a closed book; high, mysterious, and gloomy like the walls of his castle. Boyd had said he was a good man, and that should probably be enough for him until he could gather further information.

 

The rain had started again and was tapping on the window, lulling his thoughts gently.

 

He was awoken by a discreet but firm knocking on his door after what felt like a second ago. He struggled to stand up and open the door, still well buried in the sweetness of sleep. The little maid, Oriana, was standing in front of him and smiled when she discovered the state he was in.

 

“Mister Baggins, diner will be served shortly.”

“Oh, dear me! I must have been asleep for a long time.”

“A hundred years, at least,” she laughed.

“Why, but I must hurry to dress up correctly in case some charming Prince comes.”

“You should.”

 

Her face was expressing something that he could not read and did not care to. She disappeared in her quiet way then, and he was left to dress up for dinner. He was still in his travel clothes, which had been ruffled by his impromptu nap. Adequate fashion being one of his area of expertise, it did not take him long to find something appropriate to wear and change into it. One would say that Benjamin Baggins was never caught wearing anything that was not perfectly on point. He maintained his personal hygiene and fashion with careful attention, just as he always took care to be on time to everything. Speaking of which, he started from his room in search of the dining room.

 

He was pleased to find that he was not the last to arrive. The Greenwoods were not there yet, and Kilian Villand as well. Instead, there were more people he had not met. Oh joy! A tall blonde woman was talking to Gideon. Her appearance was stunning, as if she owned everything her eyes fell onto. And, at that instant, her eyes were on Benjamin, who felt moved, as by an invisible force, to walk towards her and Gideon.

 

“Ah, Benjamin! This is my dear friend the Duchess Gabrielle of Lorien. France’s finest woman if you ask me.”

“Oh Gideon, you vile flatterer,” her voice was like water running on crystal, pure and light, “Mister Baggins please do not listen to anything he says.”

“I usually try not to, your Ladyship.”

 

She and Gideon laughed, and he felt at ease for the first time since they had arrived in Erebor Hall.

 

“We are waiting for the Greenwoods,” Gideon sobered, “I could have bet they would be late.”

“Randall Greenwood likes to make a dramatic entrance anywhere he goes,” she commented without any sign of bitterness or annoyance, simply amusement.

 

She was right, though. Randall and his daughter – whose name was still unknown to Benjamin, the assistant realised – entered at last, the man moving with ease and grace as if the world was arranging itself around him. His daughter, however, was more reserved, though she was as graceful as he was. Just less grandiloquent. They all looked rather amused by the American’s behaviour, except Lord Thomas who seemed quite sour, but did not comment. They were all sited at an extravagantly long table in the dining room. Interestingly, and contrary to the rest of the castle, the decoration was not modernized there, but rather had an eighteenth century touch to it, if Benjamin was any judge. He had to say it suited his own tastes better. Their century did not shine for its architectural subtlety, he thought, everything was just too cubic and barren, too minimalist.

He found himself quite far from Gideon, who was sitting with the Duchess to his left, and a stout ginger man to his right. The Duchess was at the right of Fili, who was of course at the right of his uncle. To Thomas’s left was a vacant seat, that Benjamin assumed was Kilian’s, should he ever arrive, and then Baldwyn McFundin was next. He did not know anybody else around the table. Benjamin himself was at the opposite end of the table, on the side that started from the vacant seat, and he was flanked only by an old and amicable man who engaged in a conversation right away, having learnt that Benjamin was an historian.

 

“I have not, of course, the same expertise as you. I am but a local enthusiast. But I had a few papers published.”

“On what subject, Professor?”

“The abbey. It is called Dale by the locals, thought its actual name is Saint-Peter-on-the-Dales.”

“Only ruins to see now, I suppose.”

“Quite so. It never survived the Reformation.”

“Understandably.”

 

He came to understand that Raymond Brown was professor emeritus in Oxford, though he did not precise of what, but had found himself drawn to the history of the abbey after his retirement in the peninsula. Why would anybody want to retire here was beyond Benjamin’s understanding, but he was polite enough not to mention it aloud.

 

“An interesting sight, despite its desolate state,” Pr. Brown continued, “really worth the visit.”

“Seems interesting to me. I may go see for myself.”

“I could come with you and introduce you to its wonder.”

“I would appreciate a knowledgeable guide, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Mister Baggins. Always a pleasure”

 

Miss Greenwood, who was sitting across from Bilbo, joined the conversation at that point.

 

“Sounds like a pleasant walk. I’d love to join you.”

“Well Miss Greenwood, you are more than welcome of course,” replied the Professor, ecstatic to find more people to share his enthusiasm.

 

A few more people decided to join, in the end, and it was decided that a little party would leave the castle at ten the next morning. Kilian Villand – who made his entrance just when Oriana was arriving with the main course and was sorry to have missed the consommé – seemed to literally bounce of happiness at the idea. He sobered only when his uncle cleared his throat. His brother was trying not to laugh.

The rest of the diner was rather uneventful, if not for the very tangible tension emanating from Lord Thomas towards Randall Greenwood. Luckily, Kilian and Baldwyn were between the two, and the former especially made sure – consciously or not, Benjamin was not entirely sure – to neutralize any negativity his uncle may have thrown at the American. Greenwood, for his part, had found a placid ear for his abundant and self-centred talking in an old man sitting beside him. Benjamin suppressed a laugh when he realised that the man was most definitively deaf, or at least did not hear well. Randall was completely oblivious of the fact, and kept talking to him for the entirety of diner. He did not address his daughter once, and it somewhat pained Benjamin a tad, the young woman having been nothing but polite so far. Beside, he was quite sure nobody deserved such a cold treatment from their parent.

 

After diner, most of the party shifted to a comfortable living room nearby, but the Professor and Benjamin decided to bring their conversation to the terrace to admire the high walls of the castle and to smoke, the pipe for the older man, and cigarettes for the younger. They nearly lost their way, however, and were saved from a possible wandering by Dorian, who took the pain to lead them through a series of rooms obviously used to stack furniture and supplies for the house.

In one of them, a strong smell of chemical products made Benjamin feel slightly dizzy. Judging by Professor Brown’s look, he was not the only one indisposed.

 

“What is this smell?” The Professor exclaimed.

“The remnant of Lord Tristan’s medicine,” Dorian supplied, pointing at a series of small bottles in a box, “why?”

 

Professor Brown frowned and started muttering to himself, but did not answer. Dorian and Benjamin looked at each other, and the assistant shrugged. The old man was a singularly eccentric gentleman, after all. Or maybe the reminder of the former Lord’s illness was unpleasant to him. He had been the family’s neighbour for years, after all, and it was evident by his presence tonight that he was welcome in the family. Nevertheless, neither Dorian nor Benjamin pressed the point further. The Professor found his enthusiasm back when they encountered the fresh air of the evening, and proceeded to explain to Benjamin the complete history of Erebor Hall through time. A discourse that interested Benjamin only mildly but to which he listened carefully anyway, even interjecting a few observations of his own. They soon shifted to the local flora, and Benjamin had the pleasure to find in Professor Brown a fellow mushrooms lover.

 

The evening was, all things considered, much better than what the afternoon had promised.

 

Professor Brown excused himself at one point, not being too used to staying up late, and after escorting him back to the front Hall, Benjamin decided not to join the others back in the salon where they had retired, but instead made his way to his bedroom. He did not car much about whether it would be considered polite or not. He had not, after all, chosen to come here and he was not feeling particularly welcome by the inhabitants of the castle. Well, by one in particular, but the nephews had not been overly friendly either, and as for the other guests, he was relatively indifferent to them.

What he did not want to acknowledge completely was that his pride had been hurt. Sure, he had not expected to be welcomed as a guest of honour or anything of the sort, merely to be slightly overlooked, but there was in Lord Thomas’s words to him something that had stung. Benjamin usually had a good opinion of himself, and his social skills were good enough, even though he was not exactly the life of the party. He expected to be treated with some measure of respect and civility and was annoyed at the rudeness of the aristocrat. He treated his maid better than he had treated him, though of course Benjamin did not think maids deserved to be insulted. But he thought everybody was owed politeness, himself included.

 

He changed into his pyjamas, and sat on his bed, back prompted against the pillows, for a while. If Lord Durin thought he could walk all over him, he was to be sorely disappointed. It would not be said that Benjamin Baggins Jr could not fight back.

And with that last thought in mind, he fell asleep.


	2. Murder in the cathedral

When Benjamin woke up the next morning, it took him a few minutes to remember where he was. The touch of the linen was different than his own bedding and when he finally opened his eyes, the room around him, basked in the morning light, was unfamiliar. Yet, after a while, it all came back to him. Northumberland, the Castle, and Lord Durin. He tossed around a bit more, trying to shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction that was creeping up in his mind, then rose from the bed. His first movement was towards the window. The weather seemed to be somewhat more acceptable than the previous day, and it managed to lift some of his sour mood. Some of it, only. A dark shadow was still hanging on firmly in his mind. Remembering the walk to Dale Abbey with Professor Brown, and the perspective of a delicious breakfast – Erebor Hall, for all its and its master’s faults, had at least the merit of housing a wonderful cook – helped him fully conquer his will to disappear all day into his room. Maybe Gideon was right, after all, and the northern air would do him some good.

He dressed up accordingly to the uncertain weather and to the prospect of going out for a walk in the open air. His trousers were of a thick grey fabric made of cotton and wool, and he chose a comfortable and warm light brown jumper over a white shirt. As much as he loved waistcoats, they did not seem to agree with the climate, and he subsequently decided to forsake them for the day.

 

Breakfast indeed soothed his mood, and even the presence of Lord Thomas at the head of the table when he entered was not enough to diminish his appetite. He dug into his plate with much gusto, engaging Baldwyn who was also present in a conversation about opera. The food was as brilliant as the previous evening, and he sighed happily over the wonders of a healthy British breakfast. He was a man who needed simple comforts in life – he really was not a difficult person to please, all in all – and a good meal was one of the ways to his heart.

He only sent a few quick glances to the Lord when he was sure he was not looking. Why were his eyes drawn to him, he was not sure. There was a mystery in him that probably attracted the academic nature in Benjamin. A puzzle to solve? Yes, that must have been this.

 

After breakfast, he took the opportunity of some free time before the arrival of Professor Brown and the departure to Dale to take a walk around the gardens.

The air was fresh and still wet, but it wasn’t raining, so all in all he considered it a good day, especially after the awful weather of the previous day. Small mercies. There was the smell of peonies and roses floating around him, mixed with the wet grass and plants. He breathed in the fresh smell of the garden, letting it fill his body and soul. Nature had always had a calming effect on him. The colours too were captivating, in various shades of green and brown, and the spots of colours formed by the flowers. It wasn’t the most beautiful garden he had ever seen, and in fact he considered his own back home to be more beautiful than this one. There was a touch of classicism here that disagreed with his own personal taste. He was convinced that nature had to have its own way and circumscribing it to geometrical forms and artificial cuts felt wrong. But, considering his sour mood of the previous day, which still somewhat lingered faintly on the back of his mind, the green environment was in itself pleasant enough. It soothed the assistant’s mind and lifted his spirits up.

 

He turned around a group of bushes which dark green foliage contrasted with the light grey of the sky. Without really thinking, he extended his hand towards it, the tip of his finger touching the fresh dew and making him shiver slightly. He felt alive, honest and in harmony with himself, for the first time since his arrival. He was suddenly acutely aware of how he preferred being left alone with his own thoughts. The leaf was soft and cold under his fingers.

A bird started singing in a nearby tree, bringing him back into reality. Startled, he quickly sent a glance around him. Better not let anybody see his weird habit of communicating with nature by touch. Well… apparently this was a failure. His eyes encountered an icy blue stare across the lawn. Lord Thomas. Looking like a frightened doe at first, Benjamin then made a point to frown in the direction of the aristocrat who glared back before turning around and marching in the opposite direction. If Benjamin’s gaze lingered a bit after his figure, he told himself it was because he wanted Lord Durin to feel his negative vibe as he was walking away. Rolling his eyes then, he decided to go his own way and chase this encounter from his thoughts. He had decided to spend a good day, and he was going to.

 

He had spotted a bench when taking his breakfast earlier. It had been visible from the dining room, and he was tempted by the idea of sitting there for a moment, simply enjoying the peace and quiet. He turned around a bush in that direction. A man was in already sitting there, but his eyes were half closed and apparently, he did not mind the dampness of the air. He was round in built, with the pleasant rosy face of people who enjoy life, and his hair and beard were a bright shade of ginger – orange would be more accurate. He seemed perfectly content and peaceful, and he did not start when Benjamin made his own presence known by coughing politely. He smiled instead. His round face was welcoming.

 

“Good morning.”

“And the same to you… mister?”

“Bobby Furton! I don’t think we’ve met yet. I am the cook.”

 

Benjamin’s smile mirrored the man’s instantly and he shook his hand happily. So this was the man who had made his last two meals so enjoyable, and subsequently made him forget his melancholy. Fantastic! He observed the man further. His rotund physiognomy seemed to indicate that he enjoyed eating the food as well as producing it, which from Benjamin’s point of view was very often the sign of a really good cook. Interestingly, he had the same glint in his eyes as his brother; the sign of mirth and an appreciation for life and its simple pleasure, something friendly that immediately drew you to them.

 

“Benjamin Baggins,” he answered as he let the man’s hand go, “A pleasure! I met your brother in the garage yesterday, though. He did mention you.”

“Ah, great! Boyd has a way with cars. I suppose to each its own trade. Mine’s the food.”

“Indeed. And I have to compliment you on it.”

“Thank you very much, mister Baggins. Awful kind of you.”

“Not at all, I assure you. It is well deserved.”

 

They sat together on the bench for a little while, conversing amicably and especially about food. They swapped recipes and cooking secrets, a subject on which Benjamin was knowledgeable despite being, of course, less experienced than Bobby was professionally. He had spent a large portion of his childhood cooking with his parents and tending their garden … the vegetable patch in particular. His own tomatoes were actually popular in his village and had won a prize at the local fair last year. He was not sure in which state he would find his garden when he came back from this little escapade up north. Oh, but Alfred Gamgee would see to it. The man was a grumpy fellow, but he had a golden heart and an infinite love for a well tend garden. He would make it his mission to look after Benjamin’s. Anyway, Benjamin was not exactly an amateur in the culinary arts. He had a few tricks up his sleeves, despite not being a professional cook like Bobby.

They had such a nice conversation that Benjamin was a bit disappointed when Bobby, in the middle of stretching, suddenly exclaimed:

 

“Oh, but it’s time for me to go back to my work. A cook’s job is never done. Not that I’m complaining, believe me,”

 

Then, standing up and smiling, he added, “Have a nice walk to Dale, Mister Baggins, and a good day overall.”

“A good day to you too, Mister Furton.”

“Please, call me Bobby. Everybody does.”

“Then, by all mean, just call me Benjamin.”

“Deal,” the cook replied, shaking his hand once again.

 

Benjamin watched him walk away in direction of the house until he could not see him anymore, then went back to the observation of the garden, and of a little blackbird in particular that was apparently in search of some worm for his breakfast. He did not stay long there, though, because after checking his watch, he decided to head towards the garage, not wanting to make the others wait for him.

He was pleased, as he arrived in view of the garage, to see that the Professor was already there, but as he was approaching him, he noticed that something in his attitude was off. The old man was standing very still and eyeing the castle – which rooftop could be seen above the trees – with a frown. He seemed deeply buried into his thoughts, and at first Benjamin thought he had not seen him coming. The Professor was aware of his presence, however.

 

“There is something wrong, Mister Baggins.”

 

His eyes were unfocused, and if he had not said his name, Benjamin would have believed that he was muttering to himself again.

 

“Definitively wrong,” he repeated “Or rather… illogical.”

“What is, Professor?”

 

He did not clarify, even if Benjamin waited for him to continue. There was a rustling in the bushes nearby, and though it was probably another bird, it was enough to take the Professor’s thoughts, naturally prone to change their course for the smallest thing, away from the subject. The rest of their party crossing the lawn to meet them finished to make it desert the old man’s mind altogether.

 

He looked less thoughtful and worried after that. It must have been a passing whim, as old people sometimes get. He was, after all, a retired and secluded old man. Any little things could become an inconvenience or a worry. They got into two of the Durin’s cars, one driven by Fili and the other by Boyd. Benjamin found himself in the second with the Professor, who had declared that the youth’s sportive driving was too much for him. He was not entirely wrong, and Benjamin was glad not to be in Fili’s car so soon after having tested Gideon’s driving only the day before. The blond young man was going way too fast for the countryside tracks they were on, but it seemed to delight his brother and Miss Greenwood, on the other hand.

A ginger young woman – who looked too much like the strong ginger man of the preceding evening not to be related to him – had wisely decided to go with Boyd and his little company rather than with the three other youngsters. The ginger young woman excused her father, confirming that he was indeed the ginger gentleman, as he had to work today, after he had received an important phone call in the first hours of the morning. They were also informed by Boyd that Baldwyn McFundin, who had said he would come too, had finally decided against it. His old aching joints would not allow him to join the party in the end. And this was all about their little party.

The young ginger was not a talkative person, but he still managed to learn that her name was Gemma Groinson and that her father Glenn was a distant cousin of Lord Thomas and a banker in London. She did not confide in more, but the car ride was not a long one and Professor Brown was more than able to provide a constant conversation for the four of them anyway. Soon enough, they reached the path leading to the ruins and exited the cars.

 

The little group walked the rest of the way, chatting and laughing about whatever silly thing was crossing their minds at the time. The rain was sparing them, though the morning air was still damp and cold. It took no more than three or four minutes for them to reach the end of the path and emerge from the trees to the sight of the abbey.

 

“Ah! Here it is,” the professor exclaimed, “St-Peter-on-the-Dale!”

 

They all took a moment to admire the view from there, Miss Greenwood even climbing on a stone to get a better view. Luckily, her clothes were practical, and she seemed athletic enough not to be frightened by such an easy exercise. He gazed at her, her beige blouse rustling slightly with the wind. How was she not cold, so lightly dressed, he could not fathom.

 

“What do your eyes see, Logan?” Fili sassed her.

“Grass. Stones. Hm… more grass.”

                                                                                      

Next to Benjamin, Gemma harrumphed, but did not comment. She passed him and started on the path toward the abbey, immediately followed by a talkative Kilian who was either oblivious to her sour mood or trying to chat it away on purpose. As with the previous evening’s diner, Benjamin could not tell exactly what he had in mind.

The rest of the group followed them at various speed, the Professor hanging at the back with Boyd and Benjamin to discuss history, and the youngsters rushing ahead, excited at the prospect of any discovery. Even though, obviously, there had been nothing left to discover in the ruins for ages. This would not temper down their enthusiasm, and neither did the Professor’s warning to mind their step among the old stones.

 

“So, Professor,” Benjamin started the conversation, “what kind of congregation lived there exactly?”

“Ah! That would be the Premonstratensians.”

“I… am not familiar with the name.”

“They are not the best-known order, to be fair. Basically, they are close to the Cistercian order.”

“This I know. And when did they arrive here?”

“It is believed that the first members arrived around 1150. No evidence has been found on the correct date, though.”

“Fascinating.”

 

And he was indeed fascinated. This was no sarcasm. However, he could see the younger members of their party slowly parting from the enthusiastic professor as they were covering the last steps towards the abbey. Kilian’s face in particular reflected his boredom at the idea of a lecture. Well, he probably had enough of those in University, Benjamin could not blame him. He tried his best to supress the little smile creeping on his face and turned his attention back to Professor Brown who was still explaining the history of the abbey, its congregation, and the main differences between the monastic orders.

 

They all went their own way in groups of two, in the end – Kilian having long disappeared with his cousin, Fili and Logan walking off to discover the surroundings, and Professor Brown following through with his elaborate lecture which now had Boyd for only audience. Benjamin was content to evaporate away from the group and used the opportunity of everybody being occupied elsewhere to enjoy a moment of solitude. He could handle social situations well enough, he thought, but that did not mean that he particularly enjoyed them. He took out a cigarette and match box from his pocket and began his wandering among the ancient stones smoking.

There was something with ruins that always got to him. It was like a tune, melancholy but powerful, that played into his very soul. Perhaps it was because he was an historian, perhaps it was something more profound, something to do with Mankind and the general attraction to what once was and was no more.  A longing for things that could not be found again. He could not tell. Maybe all of this at once.

 

He was startled by the sound of footsteps nearby and turned around to see nothing but a shadow and a flash of colour moving swiftly between the pillars. Or he thought he had seen a shadow. Probably one of the youth searching his way among the old stones… or playing a trick on him, who knows. Benjamin looked at the place where the shadow had moved, blinking slowly, and taking a few steps towards it unconsciously.

 

“Fili? Is that you?” he called after it, “where are you going?”

 

But nobody answered, and he shook his head. Whoever it was – he did not even know why he had thought of Fili first, in fact – was probably just messing with him, playing a trick, and he was not going to respond to that. He had come to take a nice walk in a historical place, and connect with the old stone, not to goof around. He just muttered under his breath.

 

“Fine, whatever. I’m too old for this sort of shenanigans.”

 

The shadow had moved towards an old staircase that had been rotten away by centuries of terrible climatic conditions. It looked absolutely dangerous and Benjamin was a few feet away from the bottom of it, wondering briefly if he ought to follow whoever had climbed it to warn them of the danger of their situation. Oh, well, they were all adults, even the four youngest in their group. The worst that could happen would be for them to twist their ankle. Maybe that would teach them some sense about minding their steps in ancient ruins.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, nose up in the air to look at the clouds passing by. Very Romantic. He was sure that Wordsworth in particular would have loved that. He tried to remember bits of _Tintern Abbey_ and _I wandered lonely as a cloud_ , both poems he had studied in school, but most of the lines eluded him and the little he could remember of them was getting confused and mixed in his memory. Well, so much for the Romantics, then. This was not his area of expertise, after all.

 

Yet, soon enough, he spotted another form from the corner of his eye. This time, though, he had no trouble identifying Boyd. The driver and mechanics was coming his way, his hat still firmly on the top of his head. Strange thing it was. Not that Benjamin would have told him so, of course.

 

“Hey Mister Baggins!”

“Hello again Mister Furton.”

“Please, just Boyd. Everybody calls me that.”

“Then just Benjamin, please.”

 

The man nodded with his big smile and they shook hand to seal the agreement. The same agreement he had had with his brother earlier, Benjamin thought joyfully. The two of them shared a natural friendliness.

 

“Have you come to Dale Abbey before, Boyd?”

“Yes, a few times. We used to wander here with Thomas and… well. Dwaine, Thomas’s cousin, used to come too. Bobby always wanted to tag along, but my mother did not want him to. Too dangerous for him, I believe.”

 

He interrupted himself, looking around for a moment.

 

“Haven’t been here in years, though.”

“It must bring back memories.”

“Oh yes. Good ones. Before the war and everything.”

“Where were you?” He asked with a pensive tone, then, when seeing Boyd’s confusion, quickly added, “During the war I mean.”

“Oh.”

 

Boyd remained silent for a moment, looking straight ahead at nothing in particular, and Benjamin wondered if perhaps he had intruded. And then…

 

“Isonzo. Italian front. Nasty business. You?”

“Your average western front. The Somme and all the like. I didn’t stay long, though. I got sick and was brought back home… which probably saved my life.”

“Trench fever?”

“Yes.”

“There were some cases in our battalion too. Pretty horrible.”

“You don’t say.”

 

And there was nothing to add to this, really. They already knew whatever the other could have said. They had lived the same thing. Words sometimes were not enough to convey the horror. He remembered trying to explain to his mother. At first, after he had been brought back home, he could not say anything. At all. Then he could talk about pretty much anything else except that. He kept dancing around the subject, wanting to tell someone, yet how to explain. There had been nothing like this before. Belladonna was a clever woman and greatly understanding of people. She had not pushed to know. But he could tell she wanted to ask, wanted to know if all of this was true. Wanted to alleviate some of his pain and confusion by liberating his words. But he could never explain, not really, and that was it.

The two of them remained silent for a minute, or perhaps two, just basking in each other’s companionship. There was a certain solace in the fact that someone else knew and that you did not have to explain for once. They were both contemplating the past and what had changed since the end of the war. After this thoughtful interruption, though, the conversation resumed and took a different turn.

 

“How is it… working with Doctor Greyheim? He seems to be quite the fellow.”

 

Boyd seemed genuinely curious to know, and as earnest in his appreciation of Gideon, so Benjamin had no problem responding frankly.

 

“He is a lot to handle. Full of ideas and energy. Spends most of his time in the fields, doing excavations, still to this day and at his age. My job, basically, is staying at the University and collecting the data he finds and… trying to make sense of them. He sees it more as a partnership than a professor-assistant relationship.”

“But aren’t you a professor yourself?”

“Not exactly. Never actually went this far.”

 

He pushed a little rock with the tip of his foot, gently, trying to find the words to explain.

 

“I have been working on it for years. Gideon encourages me and supports me immensely but… it is sometimes difficult to… well… just do it. Things seem so futile. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“Oh, I see. When we have lived through stuff like… like that. It’s hard to go back to normal life and plan a career.”

“Exactly,” He sighed, then added with a bitter smile, “I probably am the oldest PhD student in Cambridge.”

“Success is not the goal, it’s only the result,” Boyd offered wisely.

“I guess.”

 

Benjamin was looking at him with a surprised look. He had not escaping the man to be this philosophical. Not that Boyd looked stupid, but he did seem pretty absentminded. But perhaps that was why he was perpetually daydreaming. Who could tell? Understanding what this look meant, Boyd simply shrugged and explained.

 

“You have to find your balance, mentally speaking. Make sense of it all. You come back in shambles, most of your old pals dead, barely able to communicate with those who survived. You got to. Or else you get crazy.”

“I… yes. You are perfectly right.”

 

Benjamin did not know what to add to this, so he just nodded silently. He would love to have that level of philosophy himself, but something in him had been broken. And after his mother’s death, he had no will to even pretend differently. The arrangement he had with Gideon was perfect. He could actually work in the field he loved and thus occupying his time. Most days, he was able not to think about the war too much. Yet every time he tried sitting down at his own work, his personal thesis, he could not go forward. He was just hit by the frailty of existence and the futility of the pursuit of a career. A voice in his head kept asking: “why bother? Will it matter when you are dead?”; and he could not shake it away.

 

There he was in his thoughts, Boyd’s presence next to him soothing but not enough to chase the anxious inner monologue away completely. The mechanics began smoking, perhaps to give himself something to do with his hands. Benjamin was tempted by the thought of lighting another one himself.

 

But he was stopped in his movement.

 

Indeed, suddenly… a loud crash echoed in the silence of the ruins.

It sounded dull and heavy, and his brain immediately thought of one of the blocks of stone falling on the damp malleable earth. The scream that followed was terrible. It rang through the air and left the two men standing still for a moment, dumb. Benjamin was trying to understand what had just happened, haggard. Then it clicked in his head. Someone must have been hurt in the fall. The sound of heavy footsteps rushing through the ruins and loud frightened voices confirmed this suspicion. His legs finally accepted to work, and he rushed to the source of the crash, something like bile rising in his throat and a bad feeling twisting in his guts. He was barely conscious of Boyd running alongside him.

They emerged from the stones, turning around some sort of pillar, in what must have been the abbey’s church once, and took in the terrible sight. Kilian was apparently the one who had screamed. He and Gemma were clinging onto each other. Logan Greenwood had her hands in front of her mouth and looked at the massive form of a rock in the centre of the open space. That is when Benjamin realised that something was peeking out from under the stone. A human hand! And on the wrist, he recognised the watch that Professor Brown had been wearing earlier. The recognition swallowed him whole like a dark void, and his mouth felt extremely dry as of a sudden.

 

He must have fainted afterwards, because everything went black around him and when he woke up, he was back in his room at Erebor Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it has been some time, but I had a lot of work in University, and it was a bit difficult to go back to this fic with as much energy as I wanted to put into it, so it progressed ridiculously slowly. But hey, here it is, and next chapter will properly start the mystery promised in the title.  
> I wondered for a moment if I should write another chapter to settle the background before the real stuff started but decided against it after all. I did not know how to make it interesting enough and, let's be real, we're all here for an Agatha Christie!AU, so no need to spend a hundred years in exposition.
> 
> I guess the title of the chapter spoils a bit what happens in it but, once again, we all know what we're signing for in this fic. Hope you'll enjoy what I've been plotting.


	3. The sound and the fury

The first thing he was aware of as he emerged from his unconscious state was the presence of Gideon sitting in the armchair by the window and smoking. He was half turned away to look at the garden, but Benjamin could see that he looked sad, and perhaps older than he had ever seen him. Was that what Gideon looked like when nobody was watching? A sad old man? He had always felt a trace of melancholia in his boss, under all his energy and benevolence. He was just terribly good at hiding it. But, in moments like these, fleeting as they were, when he was unconscious of being watched, it appeared plainly on his face. There always is something a bit unsettling in seeing people who usually look strong and collected showing their hidden sadness, Benjamin thought grimly. It is like peering into a room you are not supposed to see, like the wife in Bluebeard.  
He was reluctant to interrupt Gideon’s meditation, but he felt that staring at him longer was wrong, somehow, and so he decided to get his attention.

“Gideon.”

He was surprised by the feebleness of his own voice. It was faint and sounded like he was back from a journey into hell. But it was enough for Gideon to turn his face towards him. The old man conjured a smile, but it did not reach his eyes and the sadness lingered in them.

“Good gracious, my dear Benjamin. You gave us quite the fright. How do you feel?”  
“Not really good,” he managed to croak, “but the kids…”

Greyheim took a moment to think before replying softly.

“They are… scared. And scarred, I dare say. The young Villand brothers in particular… they have known Professor Brown for a long time and it is not the last memory of a dear friend you want to keep with you. Especially at such an age.”

He did not add the rest of what he had he mind, but Benjamin could read it in his eyes. ‘At their age, dear Benjamin, you had already witnessed countless traumatic death, and Lord merciful we wished they never would’. But we never have a choice on that, none of us, do we? Benjamin left out an involuntary sigh and managed to sit up in the bed, smoothing the cover to give himself something to do with his hands.

“So, Professor Brown really is…”  
“I’m afraid so.” Gideon breathed out, “Poor Raymond.”  
“What is going to happen now?”

The old man scratched his chin pensively. He had – from as far as Benjamin could remember – always had a beard, something that was quite remarkable in the academia where clean-shaven tweed-wearing impeccable gentlemen were the rule. Gideon was his own person, with his long grey beard, his worn-out clothes practical for outdoor adventures, and a fondness for hats. The pipe was the only concession he made to the ‘respectable professor’ look. Overall, Benjamin could not imagine him any different. In fact, the idea that Gideon could have once been a teenager or a child was something he could not quite wrap his head around. Gideon was… well… Gideon. He was born old and wise, somehow.

“I’m not sure. The police was called as soon as the lot of you got to the castle. They will investigate what happened exactly and we’ll see. I suppose that will be it. Old ruins are not the safest place in the world, anyway.”  
“You don’t say.”

He kept fidgeting, now playing with the bedding. This would not do. He had to move, do something. After what just happened… no. He pushed the covers and proceeded to get out of his bed under the eagle stare of his boss.

“Are you sure it is safe to be up so soon after fainting?”  
“I cannot stay idle. I need to be doing something.”  
“What thing?”  
“Just… anything. Even walking down the corridor. Everything but staying still.”  
“I understand.”

Someone had been mindful enough to take him out of his wet trousers and sweater before putting him into bed, and he paused for a second or three to blush at the thought before grabbing clean trousers from his luggage. Yet, this was better than making his bed damp, he imagined. Gideon had turned back towards the window, probably to spare his modesty, or perhaps in another fit of melancholy. Benjamin finished dressing up, buttoning a terracotta waistcoat, and asked idly.

“Where are they… the others?”  
“Boyd was going to his brother in the kitchen when I last saw him, but I think the others were in the conservatory for some tea and mutual human comfort.”  
“Alright. Thank you.” He paused with his hand on the handle, “Are you coming?”  
“No, I’d rather… stay alone to think. If you don’t mind.”  
“Of course. Take your time.”

The corridor was deadly silent. The whole castle seemed so. He descended the great staircase and his footsteps were muffled by the thick blue and gold carpet. Not a sound at all, as if walking in a dream-like state. It added to the surreal feeling he had about the whole situation. He was all the more conscious of his own breathing. It seemed that it could be heard from the other end of the ancient building.  
It was strange, in these circumstances, to hear the door of a car close abruptly outside as he set foot at the bottom of the stairs. It made him start and then pause, his ear trying to make sense of the sounds coming from the other side of the great door. Footsteps, two voices, one set of both things slowly fading away as the other seemed to come closer to the door. Coming out of his trance, Benjamin went to the door and opened it slowly. He did not know what was possessing him. This was not his job after all, but he just could not bear the idea of the bell ringing in the castle. Not when everything was so quiet. Not after what had happened.

A man was on the doorstep indeed, with his hand frozen mid-air as he was reaching for the bell’s chain. They looked at each other with curiosity, both equally surprised by the other’s apparition – even though Benjamin should not have been. Yet he felt that the presence of anybody was odd. The man was relatively tall from Benjamin’s perspective, which probably meant that his height was average, and looked strong and athletic enough. His posture was a bit stiff, and his face grave. Something in Benjamin’s mind said ‘policeman’.

“I am detective inspector Bowman,” the man confirmed after a moment of silent staring.

There was a question in his voice, probably because Benjamin’s presence had surprised him. The assistant professor blinked a few times, the voice bringing him back to the present – and to social conventions.

“Benjamin Baggins. I am… I thought I heard someone at the door so I came to open. The less noise…”

He made a vague gesture towards nothing in particular and he himself did not know the subject of it. The castle, the earlier event, the people in the conservatory… everything at once probably, or nothing at all. He wasn’t sure what he was talking about, so he let his voice trail off and did not add the rest.

“I see,” the inspector answered quietly, still eyeing Benjamin cautiously.  
“I can… you probably want to see…”

He interrupted himself, not knowing how to finish once again. See who? The people who were at the abbey earlier? Lord Durin? The domestics whose role it was to handle guests? He did not know. He looked at the man, hoping that he would finish the sentence for him.

“You were in Dale this morning, weren’t you?” the policeman asked instead.  
“I was there, yes.”  
“Did you find the body?”  
“Not really. I mean, we all found him, so to speak. The noise is what alerted us.”  
“Were you the first there?”  
“N-no. The four kids did.”  
“The kids?”  
“Yes, the Villand brothers, Miss Greenwood, and Miss Groinson. I can’t tell in what order they arrived there, though. Boyd Furson and I arrived last, together. And that’s it.”

Talking to the policeman cleared his thoughts, somehow, and he felt less fidgety and confused the further he spoke. His mind was able to recall the event, to get the details accurately enough. Scholar logic, he guessed. Helping the police wasn’t much, but it was still something to feed his brain.

“Thank you. I’ll ask them, then. Do you know where they are?”  
“The conservatory. Or so I’ve been told. I was going there, if you want to follow me.”  
“Then please lead the way.”

Benjamin did just that, and soon they were walking the same medieval corridor than he had with Gideon – was it only the day before? It felt so long ago now. So much had happened in the meantime, it seemed. The silence between him and the detective was heavy and a bit oppressive. He did not know how to keep the conversation fuelled, was not in any disposition to anyway, and he felt that the man was not particularly talkative either. Maybe not saying anything was the wisest course of action. Benjamin had never been averse to the police as an institution but given the circumstances he did not want to risk giving off the wrong vibe.

They reached the conservatory after a dead silent five-minute walk. It was a big castle, and he felt it even more in the policeman’s mute company. Dorian Rydder had been talking with them the whole time the day before. He and Bowman had not exchanged another word, except for Benjamin to tell the man to mind the very low door frame at the end of the corridor. Gideon had almost banged his head on it the previous day. Benjamin, on the other hand, was way too short to have the problem. The historian pushed the door to the conservatory open and entered, holding it for the inspector but taking in the sight of the room and its occupants as he did. Lord Durin was standing by the high window and looking through it as they entered, but his sharp gaze snapped towards them instantly. His nephews were sitting in assorted armchairs, the youngest clutching a tea cup in his hands. They seemed lost in their thoughts and did not even look up. Lady Gabrielle of Lorien had a soothing hand on Gemma, who was looking at her with a very soft and grateful expression. Logan Greenwood, who had been drinking her tea slowly, squinted at the policeman slightly then shot Benjamin a puzzled look.

“Detective Inspector Bowman is here about… what happened,” Benjamin announced, addressing himself to Lord Durin.  
“Right.”

They all stayed silent for a moment, waiting for the Lord to say something else. Nothing came. After a few seconds, Bowman cleared his throat.

“Thank you, mister Baggins. And thank you Lord Durin for letting me come today.”

Benjamin did not venture any comment out loud, obviously, but he had a thing or two to say about the Lord’s welcome… or lack thereof, in this particular instance or on the previous day. The circumstances were difficult, sure, but this coldness and silence was uncalled for. He was impressed by the inspector’s easy navigation of the situation on the other hand. He seemed particularly unfazed.

“I came, as you know, to investigate the death of Professor Brown. I will need to talk with the people present there… your nephews, Miss Greenwood and Miss Groinson. And… Mister Furson, was it?” here he turned to Benjamin, who nodded silently.

Lord Durin made a vague gesture towards the rest of the room. He seemed detached, as if not completely there. Maybe it was because of their negative first encounter, but Benjamin did not like that. Another illustration of his lack of social charms. He tried to remember Boyd’s words of the previous afternoon. He does not mean ill… well, so far he had not shown that he meant well either.

“The youngest four are all there. Boyd is… probably in the kitchen.”  
“Thank you. I may need to talk to them somewhere… private.”  
“Of course. The library is nearby… would it be sufficient?”  
“Yes. Perfectly. Thank you.”

The Lord turned to his oldest nephew.

“Fili... would you?”  
“Yes uncle.”

The young man stood up and crossed the room a bit reluctantly, motioning to the policeman to follow him out. They disappeared quickly, Fili not uttering another sound. Benjamin became suddenly aware of the fact that he was standing up near the door and had not moved since walking in. Lord Durin’s eyes had shifted to him and he felt even more awkward. He dragged his own body to the nearest armchair and sat without saying anything.

Only the feeling of a hand on his shoulder made him look up. The face of Lady Gabrielle, a gentle but whimsical looking smile on her face, was hovering over him, holding a cup of tea.

“You may need this.”  
“Thank you.”

She did not say anything else but he was under the impression that, somehow, she knew exactly how he was feeling. She had an uncanny yet soothing presence. His worries lifted a bit and he sipped on his tea quietly, watching her strut across the room to get her own cup of tea. Strange. He recalled her musical laughter from the previous evening. Then he shook his head and turned to inspect the rest of the room. It was packed with a subtle tension that permeated the air around him. He could almost have cut it with a knife. It did not feel oppressive, but there definitively was something else – a sort of warmth. He had trouble pinning down the source of it. It seemed to emerge in waves out of every single of the people there.

Logan Greenwood’s eyes were still on him, and there was curiosity but also a kind of wisdom in them, which he had not expected to find. He wondered why her eyes were that way. The rest of her features seemed relaxed, as a matter of fact. But her eyes… it occurred to him that this was a mask she was wearing, what with the neutral facial expression, but her eyes told a different story that Benjamin was somehow able to pierce through. Was she made from the same mould as Gideon? The kind which hide very well their inner depth and melancholy? He wondered if the realisation of what had happened earlier had fully settled in her mind. Or maybe… had she known a similar circumstance before and had learnt to put up this mask? Maybe it was not his place to pry into this. They stared at each other for a minute, both drinking their tea without uttering any sound, then Benjamin turned his gaze away, awkwardness slowly creeping in.  
Lady Gabrielle had settled in a chair near the high window and was looking out at the garden with the same hard to read expression. She periodically put her cup to her lips to sip on her tea slowly, with very elegant and slow movements, as one could expect. He observed her for a while, trying to decipher any hint of… something… in her. In vain. He gave up and turned to Kilian Villand instead, still unmoving in his armchair. He had not seemed to drink from his cup since Benjamin had stepped in. The cup was empty, as a matter of fact, and nobody seemed to want to take it from him to put it down or refill it. Given how strongly he was clutching it, maybe they had tried but failed, or thought he could have at least that if it grounded him. He was staring into the void, not even lifting his gaze when the inspector had spoken, or when his brother had stood up and crossed the room. Benjamin had seen that expression before, countless times, and he had to look away from the sight as if it was burning him.  
There was not much to say about Gemma Groinson’s behaviour. She seemed to be lost in her thoughts now, and Benjamin figured that she was reviewing the events of the morning and trying to make sense of them. She had her chin on her hand, her elbow on the arm of her seat, unmoving.

Reluctantly, he turned to Lord Durin at last. He had been trying to avoid looking at him, but a part of him was actually curious – eager even – to study him. He thought it was perhaps like a moth turning around the lightbulb: repulsed by the burning of it yet fascinated.  
Lord Durin had turned to the window again and was looking through it at the garden. His eyes were intense and he was frowning. Benjamin doubted it was something he was seeing in the garden. He probably was thinking about the same thing as the rest of them. There always seemed to be an intensity to the man. He had glanced at him briefly during breakfast to see him chew his toast with an intent that the food did not deserve. Every one of his actions were like that: focused, energetic, sort of negative in a way. Benjamin could not tell where that came from, and perhaps it was none of his business, but, well, if curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back, and Benjamin had always been known to be a bit too curious. He could not help wondering what Lord Durin’s problem was. “People are not his thing” Boyd had said. Maybe there was nothing more than that and he was overthinking it. Not everybody had to be charming and social, after all. He was not always the most extrovert of people himself, though he did pride himself on being polite, at least.

Just as this last thought was forming in his head, Lord Durin turned away from the window and their eyes met. They were extremely blue, Benjamin remarked. It was particularly obvious in the late morning light that bathed the conservatory. Lord Durin was not frowning anymore. He was eyeing the historian with curiosity, their gaze mirroring one another, and the blue of his eyes felt like a serene lake on a warm summer day. It may well have been the first time his face had shown anything else than annoyance, especially towards Benjamin. And it was certainly the first time Benjamin could perceive what Boyd had meant previously. In silence, without the need for small talk, there was effectively more that crossed the room between them. Maybe he just had a very tense face all the time, maybe he did not allow his face to be otherwise… maybe he could not. His father had been very ill for some time, after all. Grief is already a heavy thing to deal with, and he probably had to shoulder a lot of responsibility on top of that.  
Well, it did not mean he had to be rude to people, though, a little voice on Benjamin’s mind huffed, and he couldn’t help but agree with it. Whatever Lord Durin had been through, he did not have to radiate such negativity. The assistant eventually broke eye contact to go fill his cup of tea. When he went back to his sitting position, Lord Durin was looking back at the garden and it was as if this moment of silent communication had not happened at all.

 

At one point, the eldest of the Villand brothers came back into the room quietly. He turned to his brother at first but, seeing his state, directed a meaningful look towards Logan Greenwood. Silently, the young woman stood and crossed the room, the door clicking behind her as she went. Fili then sat up next to his brother as before and spent some time trying to soothe him back from his trance. Some time passed without any other interruption, and Logan came back into the room. This time she went to stand by one of the huge potted plant and caressed the leaves absent-mindedly. As soon as she entered, Gemma stood up resolutely without giving any time to anybody to say or do something. She disappeared from the room as silently as Fili and Logan had, her feet treading surprisingly gently on the floor. Nobody seemed to want to disturb the quietness and, except for the hush tones of Fili and the occasional noise of the teacups on their saucers, there was no sound uttered by anyone.  
Similarly, Gemma later reappeared. She did not enter the room though, but only poked her head inside to warn her cousin that it was the time before disappearing completely. Kilian thus was the last to go of the younglings, having managed to calm down enough. There was a mix of dread and determination in his eyes. Once again, Benjamin was reminded of a look he had seen a lot once upon a time. It sent a chill down his spine. He also realised, as the dark-haired young man exited the room, that this meant he was next. He was not particularly looking forward to reviving the morning, but he had to do it… if only to honour Professor Brown’s memory. It was only a small thing to do after all, simply talking to the Inspector and telling whatever he had seen: They were walking in the ruins of the Abbey and a block of stone fell, as it happens sometimes in ruins. The Professor had the misfortune of being there at the wrong moment. It was such a small thing. And then, they could all go back to their regular business – and try to repress the memory if they could. 

He was thinking back on what Gideon had said… that the journey would do him some good, or something of the sort. Meet people, have fun, get out of your cave. He was such an outdoor and social kind of person, of course he thought everybody else should be. Well, not to be stubborn on purpose, but at that precise moment, what he wanted to tell the old man was: “see, I told you it wasn’t a good idea. My life was organised and right on its track, and you had to snatch me up to this God-forsaken place and here is the result”. He knew it was not Gideon’s fault. He only wanted him to get out of his house and office a bit and to meet new people – or whatever Gideon had on his mind. But he certainly had not meant for all this to happen. Yet Benjamin could not help the feeling of revolt in his head that said “this is why you don’t get out of your comfort zone on someone else’s terms”. He really should not have come.

The door opened, startling him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Kilian on the frame. The young man’s expression was intense as he nodded at Benjamin to follow him. Well then… once more unto the breach, dear friends.

 

The corridor was deadly silent as he stepped out of the room. There had been a different sort of silence in the conservatory – a social silence, of people implicitly sharing whatever warmth they had to offer in dire circumstances. This, on the other hand, was cold and forlorn. Kilian had stayed with him and silently took the lead to guide him towards the library. The intensity was still on his face, as if something was on his mind that he could not shake away. This feeling was confirmed as they reached a dark door and the young man turned to him.

“Mr Baggins…”  
“Yes?”  
“I… There is something I wondered…” His voice trailed off as he was gathering his thoughts, or perhaps his courage, “Have you noticed something this morning, in the ruins I mean?”  
“What sort of thing?”  
“A shadow? Of someone probably.”

Benjamin looked at him, surprised by his question. He remembered a fleeting movement in the ruins, yes. Was that the thing Kilian was referring to? Had he seen that too? 

“Have you?”  
“Yes. Well… I’m not sure. I think I saw a shadow passing near me, but I did not have the time to see who, and when I tried to follow it, it was gone.”  
“Strange. Something similar happened to me as a matter of fact.”  
“So, I’m not mad.”  
“Why would you be?” Benjamin chuckled, tension subsiding from his body for a second at the silliness of the idea.

But the youngling did not answer. If anything, his face became even more intense. There was something uncanny in seeing someone usually so jolly and enthusiastic being so sombre. Benjamin’s momentary mirth disappeared as quickly as it came. His brow furrowed.

“Have you told the Inspector?”  
“Yes… I don’t know if that will lead to anything. I feel a bit stupid. It probably was one of us walking around, after all. But just in case it is important…”  
“Of course. You did well. I will tell him what I saw too. He can do what he thinks is appropriate with that.”  
“I guess.”

They did not say anything else and an awkward silence planned over them for a moment before Kilian cleared his throat and made his way back to the conservatory. Benjamin turned to the door of the library with a sigh. What was all of this about? He had quite forgotten about the shadow. The shock of what happened afterward was greater. But now that Kilian had reminded him… Well, as the kid had said, maybe it was just one of them wandering around. Anyway, he thought as he turned the doorknob, it wasn’t his job to decide on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, looks like it took me a full year to finish this chapter. University am I right? But I had never abandoned this fic, and I don't intend to. It just takes me some time to gather the motivation and energy to translate my ideas into the actual fic after I've spent my day working on other things. I should make a more consistant schedule, but I know that as soon as the next year will begin, I won't be able to get much more done. Soryy c.c  
> Anyway, I hope you'll like this chapter... and our new character. I like Bard and I hope you do too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks!
> 
> I think I have a thing for historical!AUs. It's the second one I'm doing and I'm still working on the other one. Ahem.  
> English is not my native language, but I'm an English literature and civilization student, so it should not have too many typos or incorrect use of language. If there is, though, I'm sorry ^^"
> 
> One word about the genderswapping: I know some people don't like it much, but there are so few female characters appearing in the hobbit and LOTR, and more often then not they are not given a lenghty presence. I've included Galadriel in this fic, but it was still not much. And as I try as much as possible not to create OCs... well there were not many solutions left.  
> But rest assured I'm going to be careful not to stereotype... and I'm not going to force any heterosexual ship on any of them (I mean, if you've read the tags, you already can tell that it's quite the contrary). So there's that.
> 
> On a final note: please let me know what you've think of this chapter, and fic idea in general. Writers like to get feedback on their work, not just for ego reason, but also because it helps them get better. So don't hesitate to comment here, but you can also come see me on my tumblr [here](http://dragonsingondolin.tumblr.com/)


End file.
